Pee – The stain never fades

 “PTSD is a whole-body tragedy, an integral human event of enormous proportions with massive repercussions.” – Susan Pease Banitt

The stain spread across her crotch and down her legs. Not sure why, being far past the age when self control is learned, but her young body seemed to respond this way. She knew what this meant, the beatings, the torture, the hell that came by the hand of adopted dads and step moms who didn’t understand why. Did they consider that maybe something’s wrong? Did they know that a babysitter used the bathroom to defile her innocence, violating her with fucked up fantasies? No, she was left to deal with the severe repercussions, searching for a remedy. The diaper she wore in public (embarrassment being the rod of chastisement her step parents thought her worthy of), locked her in stocks of shame that forever took the pee stain, and engraved that young mind with its stench. She prayed often in those days for the God that raised people from the dead, the God that made blind men see, to just do a simple thing and dry her stain. Of course, the wetness never dried until it was to late, and her young faith died after many unanswered prayers. Let this be a warning for parents everywhere, pay attention to your kids, there are reasons why.

The Tub – Abuse cannot be cleansed

“When you aren’t loved, you aren’t real. Life is cold, like the stone against my palm.”
  – Richelle E. Goodrich,
Dandelions: The Disappearance of Annabelle Fancher
“Many abused children cling to the hope that growing up will bring escape and freedom…She is still a prisoner of her childhood; attempting to create a new life, she re-encounters the trauma.”
Judith Lewis Herman, Trauma and Recovery  
I hear him coming, old truck grumbling

Stumbling up the stairs.

I hear him cussing, broken glassesthrowing

Threatening me to tears.

I hear his belt undoing, drunken fury lashing,

Bringing my young fears

I hear the slaps landing, bruises are coming

Staining my skin with smears

I hear the bath filling, his sorrow is falling

Draining his guilty water clears

I hear the door slamming, darkness is calling

Suffering my torment through the years

Related Post: Slamming Doors
Also published in Broowaha Magazine


The Demon Worry

“Drag your thoughts away from your troubles… by the ears, by the heels, or any other way you can manage it.” – Mark Twain
“Some men storm imaginary Alps all their lives, and die in the foothills cursing difficulties which do not exist.” – Edgar Watson Howe

Worry is a demonic embryo, its umbilical cord attached directly to my peace of mind and contentedness. It draws creative energy from them while imparting a deadly pathogen of anger, haste, and anxiety in a sticky mire of mental paralysis. The foul sinister infant spoils achievement by robbing me of the pleasure of attainment and eating the beauty of “Now” by a bloody spell of “What If”. To what do I owe the conception of this deceitful child? The copulation occurred by a rape of my mind from circumstances beyond my control. I thought it best then that I destroy it, to rid the world of this scourge. Many coat hangers of those attempts at abortion litter my thoughts. The wounds I inflicted are worse than the thing itself. Still, I made it this far, although I see it kick in my belly, its grasping hands pressing against my skin, deforming the beauty of birth with its sickening form. There is one antidote, a thing just as evasive yet, powerful enough to counter the poison of the demon Worry – my lover Faith. I follow her close and with every wonderful kiss she imparts a temporary immunity to my anxious contractions. There are nights I lay in her arms, as the thunder approaches, and instead of frightening me, it provides a romance for our affair, our bed alive with the fiery passion of battle. Faith, how is it you can take my dreary anxious nights and give me smiles of joy in the mornings after? The battle rages on, the sickness only cured by death, wherein Faith and I will join in eternal matrimony, our children never cursed with the vile afflictions of Worry.

The Violation of…

“… you don’t have to wait for someone to treat you bad repeatedly. All it takes is once, and if they get away with it that once, if they know they can treat you like that, then it sets the pattern for the future.” Jane Green, Bookends 

You shout at me, I try to ignore what you do
Your always there, I try to behave
You won’t let me be alone, I don’t want a shadow
You don’t let me talk, I’m too loud
You will
never give up, I try to run
You make me afraid, I make excuses
You intimidate my friends, I try to explain
You hide and peek at me, I can’t know where you are
You intrude on my privacy, I just want to be alone
You threaten my existence, I just want to be safe
You make me do things, I’m embarrassed to say
You sink lower in your life, I watch you fall
You struggle to bring me down, I struggle to breathe
You will not win, I’ll survive

You will not change me, I’ll be hard
You will not violate me again, I will kill

Also Published in Broowaha

The Specter Of Love

“The moment there is suspicion about a person’s motives, everything he does becomes tainted.”― Mahatma Gandhi

Be advised that I take artistic license in the expressions and creations I present in my posts. Forewarned is forearmed, proceed at your own risk. 


“Listening for the chirp, the space sounds of my phone
Everything stops when it rings,
My whole body tense, waiting for the vibration of her call
Everything stops when I wait for her
Early morning when it rings, I open my eyes
Everything stops when I wake to her
A text, proclaiming her rejection of me
Everything stops when I understand
She is with my friend, he is fucking her
Everything stops when I kill”
Everything Stops,  D.M.W. Sager

I take a deep breath. Jealousy. A cruel and unrelenting task master, holding me hostage, threatening my lover with violence. How quickly love turns to anger and hate. How quick the one you love can turn and violate you. Love excels at changing both itself and others. I watch as I leave all I know about myself and life; all my beliefs fall to the wayside as I follow hard after what I “love”. I watch my identity crumble in my pursuit, it consumes me. There’s no escape from its hold, the arms of another fan the flames into white hot tongues of searing pain. I compromise my safety, stepping into the line of fire, nothing will prevent me from protecting my love. It’s not a person that I protect, it’s my feelings. When I find that it’s my love that I follow, not her, conviction binds me. Love is separate in this deranged sense. Love becomes a living entity in me, demanding I make room for it, controlling my actions and thoughts. Love must be constrained by other rules to keep it in check and keep it pure. I must rise above it. Love, pure good and pure evil. It disguises itself, hiding among other feelings and manifesting in the strangest of ways. The vilest thoughts arise out of “love”. Beware of love uncontrolled, it’ll easily lead to destruction, agony, and death. Motives that should be pure, become tainted, then, suddenly, drastically, everything stops.
“Do you know what its like to lie in wait for someone? To settle yourself in the cold drizzle of winter, controlling the shivers, quiet, the gun by your side? Eyes strained to see movement in the blackness, heart pumping from adrenalin of the chase. Do you know what it’s like to wait to kill the one you love?” – The Specter Of Love
Also published in Broowaha Magazine


Imposter – Revenge is not mine

“Everything I want to hear, or afraid to
Spoken with sweetness, I’m lied to
Clothed in harlot’s dresses, draw me close
Words sweet in duress, imposter I chose
Winking with sultry eyes, words conceal
My ruin never to come, imposter revealed”



Sitting right next to me, I know what you just said. How can you just smile at me? What hardness must come over your heart to slide the knife of hatred and slander through my ribs, pushing deeper with every traitorous word? Taking joy in my pain, clapping your hands in my suffering, slow yourself down. Today it is my lot to take on these trials, but soon, my Judas, the dish of pain will be yours to savor. Your punishment will be sure as the rising of the sun; and gradual though it may be, the full heat of the day will bear on your life, burning the flesh of your cowardly soul. Joy is not mine, as it was yours, to see suffering, I wish for you to learn the error of your wayward tongue. Perhaps you will grow, or perhaps you will perish; karma has you pinned down now and soon you will see, with vivid detail, the writhing of a suffering a soul, for it will be yours only to bear that heavy load.

Shadow – Lessons from a dark friend

“Every man casts a shadow; not his body only, but his imperfectly mingled spirit. This is his grief. Let him turn which way he will, it falls opposite to the sun; short at noon, long at eve. Did you never see it?”Henry David Thoreau  


It is an image unlike any living visage, stretching further, a distortion that discerns reality. This is the shadow. The position of light influences the distortion of it, happening without my conscious decision. My only control is where I place myself in reference to the light. What is the light that I stand in? Where will this light strike me? This determines the length and breadth of my darkened friend. If run from that light I find darkness with every step. When I face the light, my path lit with comforting revelation. it’s discouraging at first, to see my faults and missteps in the glaring brightness, but it’s comforting to find that at least I am dealing with reality. This reality is always harsh, but it provides facts that help me to face change.

It’s a difficult and unnerving venture into light’s reality. There are benefits though. I can see farther down my path to the repercussions of my actions. This brings hope. Hope allows me to take bolder steps into the light. It is not for me to know my faults and shrink back in fear, but to grapple my choices, both those that are made in the past and those being made at the moment, discerning them and learning. 
Learning can happen without having to experience the actions contemplated. Watching my fellow companions walk in the light, or walking away, brings an illustration to my lessons. In either case, light is important. When walking away, the light shows the way back. When walking into it, it shows the way to stay in it. Come my shadow, let me watch you carefully, letting your blackened representation be a guide to the truth and bringing assurance of my direction. 

Also published in Broowaha Magazine